2025-05-08 20:39:57The clubhouse roared with life. Music blasted from every corner, drinks flowed like rivers, and laughter bounced off the glass walls. Rickon sat at the center of it all, legs sprawled and arms wide, as if the entire party existed solely for his amusement. He didn’t care much for the noise or the chaos—what mattered was that the ladies adored him. Every flirtatious glance, every giggle aimed his way fueled his already inflated ego.
And Beauty, ever the drama queen, was livestreaming the entire event, pouting into her camera as she called him “Zaddy Rickon.”
Rickon grinned like a devil in velvet. This was his realm, his world, and the crowd fed off his presence like moths to a flame.
When he was buzzed enough to feel invincible, he clapped loudly, silencing the music for a moment. “Yo, Chance!” he called, his voice slurred slightly. “You bring anything for my girl, Chloe? Don’t tell me you showed up here empty-handed to just feed off her like the charity case you are.”
Chloe, standing close to the bar in her sequined silver dress, stiffened at the mention of her name. She didn’t appreciate being called “his girl” or the way he was speaking to Chance, but she had to admit—Rickon had paid for everything. The private clubhouse, the open bar, the decorations, even the over-the-top six-tier cake with her face printed on it. It wasn’t how she imagined celebrating her birthday, but it was... extravagant. Unforgettable. So she had to play the perfect hostess.
She looked at Chance, her expression hopeful yet guarded. Surely he'd not come empty-handed. He was too thoughtful for that. A gadget, maybe? A gift card? She knew Chance had never been flashy.
“Let’s see what Mr. Modest brought,” someone chuckled.
Vinita, leaning against the backrest with her wine glass tilted, smirked. “Well, Chance gave me the cheapest box of chocolates I've ever seen for my birthday—and we were dating then,” she said pointedly. “I wonder what a ‘just friend’ gets?”
The group erupted in laughter. Chloe winced.
Chance didn’t respond to their jeers. He walked over to her calmly, holding a sleek black gift bag with the signature gold “LV” seal embossed at the front. He offered it to her without flourish, just a quiet, “Happy birthday, Chloe.”
Chloe opened the bag and pulled out a stunning black purse—sleek, structured, and unfamiliar. It was beautiful, no doubt, but not something anyone had seen before. Murmurs started.
“What kind of LV is that?”
“Wait... is that real?”
Rickon narrowed his eyes. He didn't like that the buzz was shifting to Chance. He stood and sauntered over, reaching for the bag like a hawk circling prey. Chloe hesitated, but he snatched it from her hands with a mock-charming grin. “Mind if I take a closer look, princess?”
He turned it over, examined the stitching, the gold hardware, and the subtle pattern woven into the leather.
Then he stilled.
“This... this is the Louis Vuitton Black Widow,” Rickon announced. “It’s a one-of-a-kind design. Only one ever made. It was auctioned tonight at a private collector's event. A very private event—only twenty people were invited.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Chance watched him with a quiet smile, hands folded behind his back. He didn’t have to say a word— Rickon was confirming the truth for him.
“Wait, wait,” someone said. “How do you know all that, Rickon?”
Rickon rolled his eyes. “Because my mother was at that auction. She was the one who almost got it. Lost the bid to some crazy billionaire who paid three million dollars for it.”
A stunned silence fell.
Everyone turned to Chance. He was suddenly the topic of the night. Girls were already plotting how to sidle up to him.
“You bought that?” Jessica asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a $3 million bag.”
Rickon scoffed. “Please. Chance? Don’t make me laugh.”
But the murmurs had already begun.
“Did he steal it?”
“No way, he doesn't look like someone with that kind of money.”
“Maybe he’s like those secret billionaire characters on Meganovel... you know, hidden identity, fake poverty, all that jazz.”
Rickon paled.
He couldn’t let that narrative take root.
He laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “Y’all think he bought that bag? Come on now! You really think Chance is some mystery billionaire? Maybe next you’ll say he owns half the country and just ‘forgot’ to mention it!”
The crowd laughed nervously.
Rickon pressed on. “The bidding started at two hundred grand. Only people who had pre-approved bank guarantees could participate. My mom had to back out because the buyer went nuclear with the price. Three million. Three. Million. You think this guy has three million to spend on a purse?”
More laughter. This time, crueler.
Rickon’s grin sharpened. “He probably bought a replica. You can get high-grade copies from China for, like... a thousand bucks max. Heck, some of them even come with fake certificates and QR codes.”
The energy shifted.
Suddenly, the awe turned to suspicion.
“Wait, are you saying it’s fake?” one of the girls asked.
“Imagine that.” Rickon said smugly. “You guys know how we run things here—either the real deal or no deal at all.”
“Either the real deal or no deal at all!” The room echoed in drunken agreement.
Chloe’s brows furrowed. She looked at Chance, silently asking for confirmation.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Rickon cut in.
“Hopefully Julia Franklin becomes the next president; people like you—counterfeit supporters, fraud enablers—be sure, you'll be standing behind bars.”
Boos filled the room. Someone threw a napkin. A few girls hissed and muttered about wasted beauty. Chloe stepped forward, trying to salvage the moment, but it was too late.
Chance felt anger ripple through him. But he didn't let it show. He didn’t have to. He nodded slowly. “Happy birthday, Chloe,” he said softly. Then he turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music that started up again.
Rickon raised his glass, grinning. “To real class.”
But Chloe didn’t smile. Her hands clutched the bag to her chest, her gaze fixed on the door Chance had just walked through.
Something about this didn’t sit right.
And somewhere deep in her gut, she knew the bag was real. Knew Chance had done something insane, something reckless—but not fake.
Never ever fake.
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Chapter 582
Miranda waited until the weekend to tell Andre.She had planned it carefully—Saturday morning, after breakfast, when the apartment was quiet and they had nowhere to be. She made pancakes, his favorite, and poured orange juice into glasses that had been sitting in the cupboard for months. She wanted everything to feel normal. Safe. Like the conversation she was about to have wouldn't change everything.But Andre knew something was wrong the moment he saw her face.He set down his fork, his eyes narrowing. "Mom, what's going on?"Miranda took a breath. She had rehearsed this a hundred times in her head, but now that the moment was here, the words felt like stones in her throat."I need to tell you something," she said. "About your father."Andre's expression hardened. His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists on the table."I don't have a father," he said."You do." Miranda's voice was steady, even though her hands were trembling beneath the table. "His name is Clifford Hills. He w
Chapter 581
The café was tucked away in a quiet corner of Georgetown—neutral ground, far from the courthouses and law firms where both of them had built their reputations. Miranda arrived early, as she always did, and chose a table in the back where she could see the door. Old habits. The habits of a woman who had learned never to be caught off guard.She ordered a coffee she didn't drink and waited.The door opened. Clifford Hills walked in.He was taller than she remembered—or maybe she had just forgotten. His hair was graying at the temples, his face more lined, but his eyes were the same. Warm. Uncertain. Searching the room until they found her.He crossed to the table. "Miranda.""Clifford."He sat down across from her. The waiter appeared. Clifford ordered black coffee, the same as her. Some things hadn't changed.They sat in silence for a long moment, both of them unsure where to start."You look well," Clifford finally said."Don't," Miranda said. "Don't pretend this is a social call."Cl
Chapter 580
Andre reached out and took her hand. His fingers were warm, steady, stronger than hers."You're the strongest person I know," he said. "You raised me alone. You built a career from nothing. You never gave up, no matter how hard things got." He squeezed her hand. "Whatever this is, you can handle it."Miranda's eyes glistened. "How do you know?""Because I know you." Andre smiled. "And because I'll be there with you. Every step of the way."Miranda pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. He didn't pull away. He never did.They sat like that for a long moment, mother and son, in the dark apartment that had never quite felt like home.When she finally pulled back, Miranda's eyes were dry. Her shoulders were straighter. Her heart was lighter."I love you," she said."I know." Andre smiled. "I love you too, Mom."She stood up, smoothing down her clothes. "I'm going to make us dinner. Something real. Not takeout."Andre's eyebrows rose. "You know how to cook?""I took a class once.""Once
Chapter 579
Miranda Cross walked through the door of her apartment and felt the weight of the day settle on her shoulders like a physical burden. The courtroom, the motion to dismiss, Wilfreda's visit—it all swirled in her mind, a storm of questions and doubts she couldn't shake.The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn against the evening light. The air was stale, untouched by life. For all her success, all her money, all her victories, Miranda had never learned how to make a home. The place was more like a showroom than a living space—pristine, elegant, and utterly devoid of warmth.She kicked off her heels, letting them clatter against the hardwood floor. Her feet ached. Her head ached. Her heart ached with something she couldn't name."Mom?"The voice came from the living room. Miranda's shoulders relaxed slightly—she had almost forgotten he was there. She walked toward the sound, her bare feet silent on the cold floor.Andre sat on the couch, a controller in his hands, the television scree
Chapter 578
The courtroom was packed as reporters filled the press gallery, their laptops open, their fingers poised over keyboards. Cameras lined the back wall, their red lights blinking. Spectators crowded the benches, whispering among themselves, craning their necks for a better view. The air was thick with anticipation.At the plaintiff's table, Ava sat composed and still, her dark hair pulled back, her suit sharp, her eyes fixed on the judge. Beside her, Chance sat with his hands folded, his jaw tight. He had wanted to be here because this was his fight too.At the defendant's table, Miranda Cross was a study in controlled power. She wore a cream-colored suit, her silver hair swept back, her face unreadable. She looked like she had been born in a courtroom, like she had never known a moment of doubt.Judge Patricia Holloway entered the room. The bailiff called the court to order. Everyone rose."Be seated," Judge Holloway said.She was a small woman, barely five feet tall, with sharp eyes an
Chapter 577
The news cycle shifted overnight as what had been a steady drumbeat of speculation about Julia's "secrets" suddenly became a legal drama, a heavyweight showdown between two of the most formidable legal teams in the country. The headlines blazed: "President's Attorney Takes on Stella Wayne." "Defamation Suit Could Reshape Election." "Ava Rennet vs. The Shark: Who Will Win?"Stella's campaign had responded quickly. Too quickly. Within hours of Ava's press conference, they had announced their legal team: a consortium of attorneys led by a woman named Miranda Cross—known in legal circles as "The Shark."Miranda Cross was a legend. She had defended corporations against class-action lawsuits, protected politicians from corruption charges, and once made a federal prosecutor cry during cross-examination. She was brilliant, ruthless, and utterly without sentiment."The Shark," Ava muttered when she heard the news. "Of course they hired The Shark."Gerald looked up from his laptop. "Is that bad
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